“Granny Nora,” Tris whispers in the woman’s ear as she holds her tightly.

The Dowager looks much older than the last time Tris saw her. Frizzy white hair now frames her face and her once plump frame has slimmed. Tris can hardly believe that this is the same Granny that held her so many years ago. She remembers seeing the old Dowager about a year ago, but it had been in passing and guards had been flanking her.

It pains Tris to think about the kind of life ...